should call the police?”
“Definitely. I think this is the murderer’s work. Any idea what he might have been looking for?”
“I can’t imagine.”
“Maybe we’ll figure it out if we take note of what was searched.”
“Ben!”
Ben whirled. “What?”
“My animals! They’ve been drilled!”
Ben surveyed the twenty or so stuffed animals that normally occupied most of the sitting space on her sofa. They were tossed haphazardly onto the floor on the opposite side of the room. Every one had a hand-size hole cut in its belly, with its stuffings falling out.
“I’m sorry, Christina,” Ben said. “I’ve heard smugglers sometimes hide contraband in dolls and stuffed animals. I guess your visitor was checking.”
“What else could they possibly…” A horrified expression suddenly came upon her face. She walked quickly into the kitchen. Everything was silent for a moment, then, suddenly, she cried out.
Ben raced into the kitchen. “Is someone—” He stopped. Christina was kneeling on the floor. “What’s wrong?”
Christina’s hands were pressed against her eyes. “They got my babies.”
Ben saw Christina’s countless ceramic and porcelain pig figurines shattered into pieces on the floor.
“Those…dirty…It took me years to collect all these.” She picked up a small pig shard with the word cochon in bold black letters. “They even got my little French piggy! He was my favorite!” Her damp eyes began to swell.
Ben patted her on the shoulder. “I’m sorry, Christina. There’ll be other pigs. Really.” He didn’t know what to do. Murders he could deal with; on ceramic French piggies, he was helpless.
“Hey, look at this,” Ben said, hoping to distract her. He pointed toward a muddy smudge on the kitchen linoleum. The mud retained the clear imprint of the heel of a shoe. “Was this here when you were home last?”
“Of course not. I’m not a total slob, you know.” She wiped her eyes and studied the footprint. “Ben, it’s a clue!”
“Not a very helpful one.”
“If you were Sherlock Holmes, you’d run tests and discover that that particular type of mud is only found in one place in all of Tulsa.”
“Indubitably. But I’m not Sherlock Holmes, and that’s not bloody likely.” He saw Christina’s face droop. “Still, we have nothing to lose. Have you got a paper bag I can borrow?”
Christina seemed to recover a bit from her pig-induced melancholia. The thrill of the hunt, Ben supposed. “I’ll give you a baggie,” she said. “The pros always put evidence into little plastic bags.”
“Wrong. The pros avoid little plastic bags because they retain moisture that can taint the evidence. Pros use paper bags and then transfer the evidence to plastic before trial so it can be viewed more easily by the jury.”
“Is that so?” She opened the cabinet beneath the sink and withdrew a small paper bag. “I guess I could be Mister Know-It-All too if my brother-in-law was a cop.”
“Ex-brother-in-law.” Using his forefinger, Ben brushed the mud into the bag. Inside the mud, he discovered a small leaf fragment about the size of his thumb. “This give you any ideas?”
Christina shook her head. “Sorry. Trees aren’t my forte.”
“Probably a rare leaf only found in one place in all of Tulsa,” Ben said. “I’m going to call the police and report this break-in. You take your shower. You’re already late for a very important date with a lab tech.”
As soon as she was out of sight, Ben took another paper bag from beneath the sink and methodically retrieved every broken piece of the ceramic cochon. You never know, he thought. I always was good at jigsaw puzzles.
15
C HRISTINA ADMIRED THE LATEST additions to Ben’s office decor. “Are these eating chickens or laying chickens?”
“Is there a difference?” Ben asked.
“He’s a city boy,” Jones explained.
“Obviously.”
The three of them sat in Ben’s tiny private office, Ben and Christina on
“Definitely. I think this is the murderer’s work. Any idea what he might have been looking for?”
“I can’t imagine.”
“Maybe we’ll figure it out if we take note of what was searched.”
“Ben!”
Ben whirled. “What?”
“My animals! They’ve been drilled!”
Ben surveyed the twenty or so stuffed animals that normally occupied most of the sitting space on her sofa. They were tossed haphazardly onto the floor on the opposite side of the room. Every one had a hand-size hole cut in its belly, with its stuffings falling out.
“I’m sorry, Christina,” Ben said. “I’ve heard smugglers sometimes hide contraband in dolls and stuffed animals. I guess your visitor was checking.”
“What else could they possibly…” A horrified expression suddenly came upon her face. She walked quickly into the kitchen. Everything was silent for a moment, then, suddenly, she cried out.
Ben raced into the kitchen. “Is someone—” He stopped. Christina was kneeling on the floor. “What’s wrong?”
Christina’s hands were pressed against her eyes. “They got my babies.”
Ben saw Christina’s countless ceramic and porcelain pig figurines shattered into pieces on the floor.
“Those…dirty…It took me years to collect all these.” She picked up a small pig shard with the word cochon in bold black letters. “They even got my little French piggy! He was my favorite!” Her damp eyes began to swell.
Ben patted her on the shoulder. “I’m sorry, Christina. There’ll be other pigs. Really.” He didn’t know what to do. Murders he could deal with; on ceramic French piggies, he was helpless.
“Hey, look at this,” Ben said, hoping to distract her. He pointed toward a muddy smudge on the kitchen linoleum. The mud retained the clear imprint of the heel of a shoe. “Was this here when you were home last?”
“Of course not. I’m not a total slob, you know.” She wiped her eyes and studied the footprint. “Ben, it’s a clue!”
“Not a very helpful one.”
“If you were Sherlock Holmes, you’d run tests and discover that that particular type of mud is only found in one place in all of Tulsa.”
“Indubitably. But I’m not Sherlock Holmes, and that’s not bloody likely.” He saw Christina’s face droop. “Still, we have nothing to lose. Have you got a paper bag I can borrow?”
Christina seemed to recover a bit from her pig-induced melancholia. The thrill of the hunt, Ben supposed. “I’ll give you a baggie,” she said. “The pros always put evidence into little plastic bags.”
“Wrong. The pros avoid little plastic bags because they retain moisture that can taint the evidence. Pros use paper bags and then transfer the evidence to plastic before trial so it can be viewed more easily by the jury.”
“Is that so?” She opened the cabinet beneath the sink and withdrew a small paper bag. “I guess I could be Mister Know-It-All too if my brother-in-law was a cop.”
“Ex-brother-in-law.” Using his forefinger, Ben brushed the mud into the bag. Inside the mud, he discovered a small leaf fragment about the size of his thumb. “This give you any ideas?”
Christina shook her head. “Sorry. Trees aren’t my forte.”
“Probably a rare leaf only found in one place in all of Tulsa,” Ben said. “I’m going to call the police and report this break-in. You take your shower. You’re already late for a very important date with a lab tech.”
As soon as she was out of sight, Ben took another paper bag from beneath the sink and methodically retrieved every broken piece of the ceramic cochon. You never know, he thought. I always was good at jigsaw puzzles.
15
C HRISTINA ADMIRED THE LATEST additions to Ben’s office decor. “Are these eating chickens or laying chickens?”
“Is there a difference?” Ben asked.
“He’s a city boy,” Jones explained.
“Obviously.”
The three of them sat in Ben’s tiny private office, Ben and Christina on
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